Damned
by ladyreapermc
Summary: Crossover with Constantine. Dean wants to save his soul, no matter what costs.


A little crossover I wrote sometime ago and fogot about until this week, when I found it by accident. It's set a little after episode 310 of Supernatural (Dream a little dream of me) and after the Constantine movie.

please review.

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_**Damned **_

Dean was second guessing his resolve. Maybe he shouldn't have come alone after all, but then again, he was still hunted by the memories of his dreams and, just for the moment, he couldn't, no, he wouldn't let Sam get involved in this. It wasn't his problem to deal with.

When Bobby told Dean about this man, this supposed specialist in all supernatural things who lived in Los Angeles, he took off without saying a word to his brother; forgetting about the bitch Bella and the Colt, focusing only in Bobby's words.

"_He's well known in the business, but no hunter I've __ever met has a good word to say about him"_

"_So what makes you thing that he will help me if he can?" Dean didn't want to let himself believe. Disappointment was a bitch to deal with. _

"_There are rumors." Bobby said hesitant. _

"_What kind of rumors?"_

"_The word is…" The old man took a deep breath and Dean could feel his heart hammering in his chest. "He escaped hell twice."_

Dean didn't wait for another word, in that moment, that's all he needed to hear. That someone could help him, save his soul. He didn't want to become one of the things he hunted. The rush of hope that words brought him pushed his better judgment to the farther corner of his mind.

But now that he was here, facing the door of this supposed miraculous man who cheated fate and saved himself from the pit twice, Dean was starting to feel the sane (and sadistic) part of his mind screamed at him that this man couldn't help him, no one could. He was damned to hell.

Dean knocked anyway. He was there already; no good would come in turn around and go back. At least, he could that weight of his conscience, the one that said he should try everything to save himself (even if another part of him whispered venomously that he didn't deserve salvation.)

It took a few minutes for the door finally crack open and a rugged looking man peek his head out.

"What?" He barked rudely. The smell of alcohol nearly got Dean drunk and his better judgment was slapping him on the back of the head. How could he be so stupid?

"Constantine?" Dean asked with careful tone. Maybe he had gotten the wrong address (and really, this hopeful part of him was an idiot.) "John Constantine?"

"Who's asking?" The man asked. He seemed to sober up a little at the mention of the name.

"I'm Dean Winchester." There was a hint of recognition on the other's eyes and before he could utter another word, the door opened entirely.

"I've met your father once." Constantine commented over his shoulder while searching for a clean glass in his cupboard. "Obsessed son-of-a-bitch."

Dean grinded his teeth and decided to let it slide. He was there after all to get the man's help. Not a smart move to get into to an argument with him to defend his father. Instead, he picked up the glass laid on the table for him and poured himself a drink.

"Do you know why I'm here?" Constantine cocked an eyebrow in a petulant manner.

"I'm not a damn mind reader, kid."

Dean chuckled slightly as he took a seat on the chair facing the older man. Constantine watched him intently, playing with a cigarette that was resting on the table.

"I'm going to hell." Dean said bluntly, swallowing the contents of his glass in one go.

"What makes you say that?" Constantine took a gulp of his own drink. "Don't be so hard on yourself, kid, God can be very forgiving."

The way Constantine voiced the word kid nearly made Dean snap. The man wasn't that much older than him, but still spoke like if Dean was just a child. It was unnerving.

"I made a deal." Dean elaborated, glaring at the older man when he actually snorted.

"If you were that stupid, maybe you deserve the pit." Constantine stuck the cigarette between his lips. "It's always like this. Boy makes a deal, but when the time is due, he looks for a way out. Learn to deal with the consequences, boy."

Dean stood up roughly, knocking the chair down; the anger was pumping in his veins, screaming in his mind. How did he dare? Dean pulled Constantine closer by the jacket, so he could look in the man's eyes. They were impassive, unimpressed by the outburst.

"Don't call me boy, and don't patronize me. You don't know anything about me, and I could care less about your opinion, the only thing I want from you is to know how did a drunk like you manage to escape hell twice now?"

Constantine remained impassive, watching the younger man with a bored expression, the unlit cigarette still dangling from his lips.

"You're wrinkling my shirt." He informed calmly and Dean let go of him with a short laughter. This man was unbelievable. "One: you need to deal with your temper. Contrary to the popular believe, you can't beat the truth out of someone, especially not me." He made a pause, smoothing the plains of his dress shirt. "Two: I can't help you."

"Can't or won't?"

"I really can't. I was just lucky, I guess." Constantine shrugged, refilling the two glasses. "The first time I just didn't do the job right." He rubbed his wrist unconsciously. "It was just a glimpse I had of my destiny. Fate doesn't see shades of grey. Suicides go to hell no questions asked, doesn't matter if you were only dead for few minutes."

He took a long gulp of the amber liquid in his glass, staring at it his own reflection on the bottom, like it had been years since he last looked at himself. Maybe it was.

"The second time…" He hesitated. "The second time I wasn't going to hell. I was going up." A bitter smile graced his features. "But they couldn't let me rest in peace. No, they need someone down here to clean up their mess." Constantine finally looked up to Dean. "See? Can't help you."

Dean sighed, falling back on his seat. Did he really think anyone could help him? A laugh broke out of his throat. It sounded almost hysterical, desperate. A perfect reflection of what Dean felt inside. Maybe he should resign himself to his fate.

"Why did you do it?" Constantine asked calmly, cutting through Dean's insane laughter.

Dean silenced himself, drying the tears caused by his second outburst. He finally drained the whiskey in his glass before turning his focus to the other man.

"To save someone I love." Constantine chuckled.

"Must have been one hell of a girl." Dean laughed and shook his head.

"I did it for my brother." He swallowed another glass. "He is the only family I have left."

A moment of silence stretched between the two of them. Dean watched as Constantine continued to play with the cigarette.

"Are you gonna smoke that?" The older man chuckled and shook his head.

"It's a battle of will." He answered enigmatically before slipping the small object inside his pocket.

"You lost me." Dean replied confused.

"You understood, just didn't get it." Constantine smiled and once again refilled the two glasses. "A toast." He announced lifting his glass. Dean did the same. "To our damned souls. May we repeat this moment in hell."

Dean chuckled before drinking. It was certainly an appropriate thing to say.

xxx

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I own nothing, otherwise there would be a sequel of Constantine, Sam would have a proper haircut and a personality and Sophia Bush would be in Supernatural too..


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